


• Confessions •

by ShesGoneRogue



Series: Visions of Crema [7]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Charmie - Fandom
Genre: Drinking, Drunken Confessions, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 12:03:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15971939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShesGoneRogue/pseuds/ShesGoneRogue
Summary: Loose lips launch ships.





	• Confessions •

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno...I just really wanted to write some sweet Armie taking care of a drunk, giggly Timmy but it got outta hand.  
> (why do my bunnies always insist on chewing up the script?)
> 
> Un-beta'd and shifty AF.
> 
> {{Armie's thoughts}}

Tonight's dinner has been epic even by Luca's standards. They'd started somewhere around six and it was now nearing midnight - not that anyone is complaining. As always, the food is incomparable and the wine is flowing freely.

Maybe a little too freely, Armie thinks as he eyes Tim from across the table.

Tim's eyes are getting heavier by the minute, his smile just a little too slow. He's thoroughly shitfaced.

Luckily, they don't have early scenes tomorrow - Luca is no fool, he always schedules his longer get togethers on nights before late shoots or days off - so Armie isn't worried about that, but he  _is_  worried about how much the kid is gonna be hurting in the morning. He'd learned very quickly what a lightweight Tim is, and tonight he'd watched him enthusiastically keep up with every bottle Luca had insisted they open up and 'sample'.

Tim looks up just in that moment and catches Armie staring. His smile falters a little and he pushes himself up on wobbly legs and leaves the table, heading straight for the balcony. 

That's another thing worrying him. Tim has been acting strangely for more than a week now. Armie had first chalked it up to them just constantly being in each other's spaces and spending too much time together, but now he seems to be intentionally putting more and more distance between them and Armie is beginning to wonder if he's truly offended him somehow. He needs to get to the bottom of this before it starts affecting their scenes.

He gives it a few calculated seconds and then politely excuses himself, not that anyone notices. They all just keep talking over each other and pouring more wine.

He finds Tim on the balcony, sprawled in a lounge chair with one arm thrown over his eyes. "Hey, man. You alright?" He touches his shoulder lightly.

"Spinning."

Armie huffs a little laugh and drops down into the open chair next to him. "No doubt. I think you've put away more Chianti tonight than myself and Luca combined."

Tim just groans and shifts his arm to hide more of his face.

Armie sits back and lights a cigarette, unsure what to say next. He wants to ask  _why_...why the distance? Why are you drinking so much? It's an uncomfortable feeling for him. They've been so open and close with each other almost from day one, but now it feels strained somehow. He steals a glance at Tim and smokes silently, resolving to just 'be there' and not press anything right now. Answers can wait until they're both sober.

Long minutes pass as muffled laughter filters out to them and crickets chirp softly in the yard. Armie has just stubbed his cigarette and decided that Timothée has passed out.

"I think I'm in love with you."

Armie turns to him, stunned, his mouth just opening to form the word 'what' when Tim bolts out of his chair in a flurry of flailing limbs and makes for the bathroom. He watches stupefied as Tim trips all over himself through the open doors and down the hallway before finally gathering the presence of mind to get up and follow him on legs that feel like they've turned to wood.

He finds him retching and hugging the porcelain for dear life, his thin body arching with painful looking convulsions. The bathroom reeks of alcohol. He drops to one knee and rubs his back through it. "Get it all out, man. You'll feel better."

Tim has another violent bout of convulsive heaves and rests the side of his head on the seat, his eyes swollen and red when they finally settle on Armie. "Sorry." he mumbles.

Armie just brushes the sweaty curls off his forehead and smiles as he flushes for him. "Don't apologize. Come on. Let's get you home." He carefully lifts Tim to his feet and holds him close against his side as they walk back out into the main area. "Hey guys, Tim's had a little too much. I'm gonna get him home."

Luca jumps up and comes over to them, alarmed by Tim's pallor and the way he's leaning so heavily on Armie.

"I've got him, Luca. He's okay. Just needs to sleep it off."

Luca fusses over him, touching his cheeks and murmuring sympathetic endearments in soft Italian.

Armie chokes back the flare of jealousy that wells up unexpectedly inside him, refusing to examine  _that_  too closely for now, thank you very much. He turns them away toward the front door, hoping that he doesn't seem too possessive as he pulls Tim away from Luca's motherly concern.

They leave the dinner party amid shouted 'ciao's and expressions of well wishes mixed with more than a few soft snickers and one low cat-call.

Tim is practically dead weight at his side, his feet dragging through the gravel as they approach his rental waiting in the driveway. Thankfully they aren't blocked in and Tim's current condition, to say nothing of his unexpected confession, has done wonders to sober Armie up.

He carefully folds him into the front seat and buckles him in before laying the seat back slightly so that he doesn't slump over. Tim barely stirs through it all.

It's only about 10 minutes back from Luca's to the short term apartments rented for them. He thinks Tim is asleep and has only just begun to try and process the events of the last hour or so when he feels clumsy fingertips dragging down his cheek.

"Why you s'good <hiccup> me?"

Armie can't help but laugh. He glances over at Tim as the fumbly fingers slide down his arm gracelessly, the hand landing with a painful sounding 'thunk' on the console separating them.

Timothée blinks at him slowly in the dim light from the dashboard, his eyebrows knit together like he concentrating really hard. "Gonna barf."

That much comes through clearly enough. Armie swerves recklessly to the side of the road a couple of blocks from their building and gets ready to jump out and help Tim with the door, but he's already managed, so he stays in his seat and grips the back of his shirt as he leans out.

Tim sits back with an exhausted sigh and a feeble yank at the door to close it, " 'kay." 

Armie eases down the street the rest of the way, trying not to jostle Tim too much on the rough cobblestones. Tim's eyes are closed again, but he can tell by his breathing that he's still conscious. "Still with me, buddy?"

Tim scrunches his face and grumbles. 

Armie laughs and gets out, coming around to Tim's side to open the door and help him out.

Tim stands and immediately falls against him, mumbling something unintelligible.

"What was that?" Armie asks distractedly, trying to balance for both of them.

"...call me that." he says petulantly.

Armie stops his attempts to get Tim upright again while he puzzles that out.

"Don' wan t'be yer buddy." he sounds offended.

Armie stands still for just a moment longer, snuggling Tim close against his chest and smoothing his curls while he tries to stifle a laugh. He knows it's wrong because Tim is obviously serious about it, but he's just so damn cute.  "OK, Tim. I won't call you 'buddy'. What would you prefer?"

Tim tilts his face up and grins, but as he opens his mouth to answer he quickly has to turn away as another bout of nausea hits him. There's not much left at this point, thankfully, so Armie holds him through it and pulls him back up as soon as he's done.

"Come on bu— aby, let's get you to bed." He rolls his eyes, silently kicking himself for letting that slip, but Tim beams up at him. 

"What?" he tries to play it off.

"I like that better." Tim giggles.

"Shut up." Armie laughs.

They stumble to the elevator and ride up with Tim unabashedly hanging on Armie and grinning the whole way. No one is around to see them, so Armie lets his guard down and holds him a little closer than he would normally. He's almost ashamed of how good it feels to be able to take care of him like this. The little sigh that Tim gives when Armie kisses the top of his head sends a rush of heat through his chest and he inwardly curses the elevator for stopping when they reach their floor, wishing they could just spend the rest of the night like this. 

Tim is pliant and cooperative when Armie herds him through the front door and into the bathroom to help him undress. He tries not to notice Tim's hands on him as he braces himself when Armie bends down to pull 'Elio's' jorts off.

"Gonna keep those."

Armie smiles, lifting Tim's feet one by one and casting the denim off to the side. "You should. They suit you, but right now they need a wash."

A soft chuckle, cut short. "Armie — I need to pee."

Armie stands up slowly, Tim's hands still on shoulders. "Well, alright then. OK. Um...do you need...?"

"Yeah."

Armie swallows and helps Tim over to the toilet.

Tim leans back against Armie's chest and fumbles with the front of his boxers as Armie braces him by the hips.

"Help me, please." he slurs.

Armie closes his eyes and swallows back the litany of curses that threaten to leap off his tongue. He deftly reaches in and pulls Tim's dick out as he nudges them closer to the toilet.

Tim groans in relief as he starts peeing and Armie bites his tongue, sneaking a look. This shouldn't be so erotic, but damn if it isn't. 

Armie shifts his hips slightly away from Tim's lower back and pointedly looks away as he feels himself begin to thicken and stir. 

{{ _How much can he possibly pee?_ }} 

He bites the inside of his cheek to distract himself.

When Tim finally finishes, he tucks him back in and flushes, grabbing a face cloth off the shelf above before guiding him over to the sink. "Can you hold on to the sink for a minute while I get you cleaned up?"

Tim nods and dutifully grabs the sides of the sink with clumsy hands while Armie wets the cloth. 

He moves back behind him and uses the mirror to guide his motions as he starts wiping down Tim's clammy face and chest. 

Tim watches in the mirror with heavy eyes and his mouth softly turning up in a lazy smile. "That feels good." He leans back against Armie and reaches to cover his hand with his own.

Armie stops moving...stops  _breathing_  as their eyes meet in the mirror.  

{{ _we are Not going to do this we. are. not. going. to. do. this_.}}

His resolve falters a bit when Tim's breath catches tellingly.

They stay like that for several heartbeats, neither sure what to do...break the spell or move forward. Armie decides for them. He pulls his hand away and clears his throat. "You need to rest." 

Tim drops his eyes, his shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry about all this." he speaks into to the sink, sounding a bit more sober.

"Dude. Don't worry about it. It's no big deal." Armie reaches for the bottle of mouthwash and pours a lidful, offering it to Tim. "Really."

Tim turns to him with a hurt look, mutely accepting and tossing back the contents with a sheen of tears in his eyes.

Armie tries to massage his shoulders as Tim swishes and turns back to the mirror, throwing a glare at him as he shrugs him off.

Tim lowers his head and spits, barely finishing before blurting out, "How can you say that? I just confessed that I'm in love with you. How is that not a big deal?"

Armie shrugs, his cheeks reddening. "You're drunk. People say things they don't mean when they're drunk." He can't look at him because, God he doesn't want that to be true. 

{{ _Please, mean it_ }}

Tim sighs and pushes away from the sink, knocking Armie back and away from him. "But I did mean it though." he mutters under his breath, staggering out of the bathroom.

Armie doesn't have time to let the relief wash through him. Tim slams into the door frame and starts to go down. He rushes forward and catches him before he hits the floor.

"Fuck my life." Tim whines pitifully, and they both end up laughing at the ridiculousness of it as Armie half drags, half carries him over to the bed.

He eases him down as carefully as he can, falling nearly on top of him in the process. Tim isn't helping much with rubbery arms and legs flopping all over the place. A fit of giggles seizes them as they try to wrestle the sheet from under Tim's dead weight and get him situated. Armie ends up right in Tim's face, just inches away...neither of them laughing now.

"Kiss me."

"Tim—"

" _Please_ , Armie...just...kiss me."

"We shouldn't —"

"I don't care what we shouldn't do." Tim's hand comes up to the side of Armie's face, his fingers sliding back into his hair. He lifts up a little as a soft groan leaves Armie's mouth on his next exhale.

Armie gives in, meeting Tim in the air before he's had a chance to pull him completely down to him. He  _wants_  this. He wants this so much his insides quake with the crushing weight of it....but he knows he shouldn't. Their lips barely brush.

Tim whimpers softly and licks at him, trying to get him to open up.

Armie caves even more, opening his mouth and taking in Tim's tongue with soft lips. He knows he doesn't stand a chance now, if he ever truly did. He grips the side of Tim's neck and shifts his body closer to him, his heart racing and palms sweating.

Tim reaches for the hand at his throat and covers it with his own, whining a little as he spreads his thighs beneath the thin sheet. He drags Armie's hand down his chest and over his flat belly, arching up as they get closer to the sheet draped across his hips.

"Ohfuck - please touch me...please." he pleads softly against Armie's lips.

Armie growls and halts the descent, fighting hard to find some last shred of decency and stop this before it goes too far. "Not now. Not like this." He presses his forehead against Tim's until he can find the strength to pull back. It's taken every ounce of willpower he possesses to stop himself.

Tim lets go of his hand with a resigned sigh as Armie kisses his brow.

"Get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow." he pushes up off the bed, adjusting himself with an obvious grimace of discomfort - much to Tim's delight.

Tim pushes up on his elbows and smirks up at him, making no effort at all to hide the prominent tent in the sheets.

Armie gives it a longing glance and shakes his head with regret as he turns to go. He makes it halfway to the door when a pillow hits his left butt cheek with a dull thud.

"You're too decent, Hammer." Timmy growls in obvious frustration.

"And you've got a shitty arm,  _Chalamet._ " he volleys back, grinning to himself as he hears a snort of laughter before he closes the bedroom door behind him.

He's almost to the front door before he thinks twice and circles back to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and a two aspirin. When he opens the bedroom door again, he notices the empty bed and hears the toilet flushing. 

{{ _again?_ }}

He leaves the aspirin and water on the bedside table and hurries back out before Tim re-emerges and tries to convince him to stay.

It isn't until he's out in the hallway between their apartments that he dares to take a full breath and pause for a minute to sort through what almost happened between them. He fishes his keys from his pocket and tries to unlock his door, a panicked little laugh welling up inside him when he notices how bad his hand is shaking.

"The  _fuck_ , Hammer?" he whispers, banging his head on the door and gritting his teeth to calm himself down before trying again.

Once inside, he goes straight to the bathroom and strips down, ignoring his still half hard cock and stepping into an ice cold shower.

{{ _Did all of that just happen?_ }}

He replays the entire night in his head, rotating round and round beneath the water until he's dizzy and shivering from the cold, only then does he turn the temperature up and allow himself to thaw out. He cleans up quickly, towels off, brushes his teeth, and marches himself to bed - doing everything by muscle memory, his mind completely consumed by two sentences repeating themselves over and over.

_'I think I'm in love with you.'_

_'But I did mean it though.'_

{{ _What the **fuck**?_ }}

He pulls the covers up and turns off the lamp. In the dark, his eyes are wide and unseeing, his breathing too fast for him to settle.

{{ _He'll never remember any of this in the morning....better that way. Right? Yes, definitely better that way. God, he was so hard...so ready. Fuck._ }}

Images of Tim's soft, panting mouth fill his mind. His eyes slam shut and he turns violently over onto his side, yanking the covers so hard the mattress shifts.

{{ _Not thinking about that. Nope._ }}

He can hear Tim's voice in his head. 

_'I don't care what we shouldn't do.'_

Taste him on his tongue. 

_'Please, touch me.'_

He reaches down and tucks himself between his thighs, squeezing to try and quell any further growing interest in the images playing over and over in his mind. It's no good. He flops onto his back again and just lets his thoughts wander at will.

...the warmth of Tim's body against him...

His thighs spread, cock springing up to raise the sheet, his skin already tingling in anticipation.

...the way he'd arched up against him, pleading...his lithe body responding to every little touch. He was so horny, practically purring as he'd tugged his hand down over him...

{{ _God, what if he's touching himself now...thinking about me?_ }}

His fingers curl around his dick and he begins stroking lightly, losing himself a fantasy of Tim masturbating. He can see himself getting up and walking back across the hallway, using his key to let himself in...hear soft moans from the bedroom as he approaches...he sees himself pause and listen with one hand on the wood of the door, hearing his name repeated again and again...watches as his hand pushes the door open to reveal Tim propped up against the pillows and headboard, his pale thighs spread wide and glistening with sweat - one hand is stroking his cock in a fast, firm rhythm, the other bent back and reaching up from beneath him, two fingers buried inside his ass, pumping deeper with every stroke. He visualizes Timmy looking up as he enters the room, his eyes burning hot and inviting. "Fuck me, Armie—"

Armie comes with a shout, his load dampening the sheet now haphazardly twisted around his hips. He bucks and pants, moaning Tim's name over and over again until the last spasm leaves him spent and sticky. He lays there for a moment, feeling his cock soften in his hand as he examines his thoughts on what he just did.

"God, you're fucked." he whispers into the empty room.

He hastily wipes himself down with the ruined sheet and tosses it off the bed, opting to sleep without covers rather than risk getting up and catching a glimpse of his guilty face in the mirror in the search for clean linens.

"So fucked." he sighs, curling up onto his side and tossing out a silent prayer that tomorrow's shoot gets rained out.


End file.
